


A Really Sexy Mess...

by Megg33k



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Parts Everywhere (in a sexy way), Dog Tags, Fingerfucking, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, Military Fetish, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megg33k/pseuds/Megg33k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That time when two captains, two doctors, one detective, and one tea boy were only five people and everybody fucked.</p><p>Yeah, that mostly sums it up! I don't have much else to add to that... it is what it is!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feeling Each Other Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My current 403 followers](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+current+403+followers).



> This is being written in celebration of me breaking the 400 followers mark on Tumblr. I asked my followers what they wanted to read, and I ended up with "Johnlock + Janto with a military kink"... but then I thought, "Ten should really be a part of this!" So, what I've ended up planning is a foursome turned fivesome. I wanted a quick one-shot, but that is obviously beyond my capabilities. I still call it PWP, because what's written isn't exactly plot so much as scene setting.
> 
> There will be actual sex in chapter 2... sorry the set up took so long! ♥ ENJOY!

“You’re wasting my time.”

“ _I’m_ wasting _your_ time? _You’re_ wasting _my_ time!”

“I was led to believe there was a case.”

“I was led to believe you were a genius! Pffft!”

John Watson nervously drummed his fingers against his thigh as two men in extraordinary coats stood arguing before him. “I thought this might be fun,” he said half to himself, half to the immaculately suited tea boy sitting next to him.

“Mm. How’s that working out for you?”

“Not well. John Watson, by the way, since no one introduced us properly.”

“Ianto Jones,” he replied, extending his hand in greeting.

John accepted the gesture. “He really is a genius, you know? Just not about this sort of thing.”

“Mine too… though _mostly_ about this sort of thing.” Ianto choked back a laugh. “How’d this happen anyway?”

John sighed and began regaling him with the scene that took place only a few hours earlier.

***

John had jaunted off to get milk whilst at the grocer with Sherlock and returned to find him engaged in a serious discussion with a rather dashing man in a long military coat.

“Captain Jack Harkness.” The man offered John a firm handshake and a wink. “And who are you?” His voice was practically a purr.

“Captain John H. Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.” John saluted him, and he reciprocated.

“I was just telling Mr. Holmes here about a… uh… case—” His eyes widened suggestively. “—I could use his help with. Yours too, of course,” he added, grinning.

“A case?” John asked.

“Yes, John, and a rather large one at that,” Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.

“Yeah… HUGE!” Jack held his hands about half a meter apart and motioned slightly toward his groin when Sherlock looked away.

Even without the gesture, the smirk on his face would have quickly given him away to anyone other than Sherlock Holmes. “Ah, a case. Sherlock does love a good case.” John could barely contain his laughter.

“Does he?” Jack’s grin widened.

“Oh, god, yes. He practically lives for it.” John bit his lip to quell his urge to snicker.

Sherlock looked back and forth between the men, almost catching on but still not quite getting it. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” John shrugged. “No clue what you’re talking about.”

Jack shook his head. “Yeah, no… I was just cluing your… partner… in on our conversation.”

“Partner?” John’s ears pricked at the word.

Sherlock’s head snapped around in response. “Yes, partner. Of course you’re my partner. What else would you call us?”

“Partners, yeah… partners is fine,” John agreed, realizing Sherlock wasn’t understanding Jack’s connotation and having no desire to explain it.

“Great!” Jack exclaimed. “So, you two can pop over to mine this evening around seven, then?”

“Absolutely. Can’t wait.” John smiled congenially, excited to see Jack and Sherlock battling out their differences when they realized they weren’t even reading from the same book, let alone being on the same page.

“Tonight.” Sherlock nodded his farewell to Jack and turned his attention back to John, grinning. “A new case. This is thrilling. Apparently Captain Harkness works for a special ops team. I suspect Lestrade would be rather jealous.” He looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Mm… You should make sure and tell him all about it after the fact.” John somehow managed to hold his composure at the thought. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get home and put this stuff away before we have to leave again.”

***

And that was that. Several hours later, John was sitting on a strange couch in a strange flat next to a strange man. The disagreement he’d looked so forward to watching was playing out in front of him, and he was strangely unentertained by it. At least half of his time was spent hoping Sherlock wouldn’t choke Jack to death, which suddenly seemed like a plausible outcome after hearing Jack doubt Sherlock’s intellect. At least it’d make for an interesting way of Lestrade finding out where they were after all.

“Excuse me?” Sherlock’s fists clenched at his sides.

“Look… I thought you understood what was going on. Your husband certainly—”

“Husband? What?” Sherlock ran his fingers roughly through his dark curls. “What are you on about?”

“Whoa!” Jack’s hands went up in a show of surrender. “Someone’s in denial.”

“Denial? Of what exactly?”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “We should really do something before this gets further out of hand. I’d hate to see my flat mate murder yours.”

 “Even if he killed him, it wouldn’t stick. Never does.” Ianto chuckled. “And calling Jack my flat mate would be a bit short sighted.”

“Wait. What?” John was perplexed. “Wouldn’t stick? How do you mean?”

“Huh? Nothing. You’re right. We absolutely should do something.”

A split second later, John’s back was against the arm of the sofa. Ianto hovered just above him, waiting only a moment for some sort of objection before pressing their lips together when he received none. His tongue pulsed against John’s lower lip and was immediately permitted entrance. John genuinely hoped the wet, sloppy sounds of their extracurricular activities would be enough to distract the two men engaged in a somewhat less pleasant activity. If the arguing hadn’t ceased, John had obviously found a way to shut it out. Perhaps the tea boy’s tongue in his mouth played a small part, but he was certain room must have actually gone silent.

Jack’s voice eventually rang out. “You’ve got to admit that’s kind of hot.”

“It’s—” Sherlock cleared his throat. “—interesting.”

John glanced subtly out of the corner of a heavily lidded eye to see Sherlock inadvertently adjust himself in his trousers. Perhaps the detective was more interested in carnal pleasures than he had previously assumed. He slid his leg up on to the couch and to Ianto’s side, poising the near-stranger’s hips directly between his own thighs.

Jack stepped closer to Sherlock. “Are you really going to let them have all the fun?”

Both John and Ianto had practically stopped, only occasionally brushing their lips together, in favour of watching the dynamic shift.

“Watch him,” Ianto whispered. “This is what he does best. Well… I say best…” He chuckled again. “Best comes later. This is rather impressive too, though.”

John watched intently, waiting to see how his best friend would react to such an outward display of sexual interest. He’d never had the courage to try it himself, which had done well to save him several weeks’ worth of a sexual identity crisis. Though, the man positioned comfortably between his knees, the one whose tongue had so pleasingly been in his mouth only moments before, made him realize that the crisis was imminent after all and reminded him he might want to go ahead and schedule a few more sessions with his therapist ASAP.

Sherlock still hadn’t responded to Jack’s question, almost as if his usually impressive brain had utterly shorted out. “I don’t… I mean… I…” He snapped his head toward John and spoke through tightly clenched teeth. “What are you doing?”

Before John could answer, Jack’s hands had slipped between Sherlock’s coat and shirt. “It’s called kissing, and I think we should try it, too.”

Sherlock pulled back slightly as Jack leaned toward him, but curiosity seemed to get the best of him as he finally allowed their lips to meet. Even more surprising was the way the detective melted into Jack’s arms as the kiss deepened.

John’s chest tightened in response, almost as much as his trousers. An unexpected pang of jealousy surged through him, but he also found the idea of Sherlock as a sexual being immensely erotic. He thought he’d done well to completely internalize his thoughts until he heard himself expel a quiet whimper.

Ianto, obviously taking note of John’s reaction, stood and led John to a spot very near where Jack and Sherlock were otherwise engaged. “Jack.” He nudged his partner gently.

Jack paused and turned to seek the cause of his distraction. “Busy.” He rolled his eyes toward Sherlock, who looked more than mildly perplexed.

“Yes, well…” Ianto jerked his head toward John, whose gaze hadn’t left Sherlock since the moment Jack had kissed him.

“Ah.” Jack grinned and pulled John between himself and Sherlock. He leaned close to John’s ear. “Your turn.”

John could see the questioning in Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock could best him in a battle of the wits any day, but John knew Sherlock better than Sherlock would ever know himself. And, in that moment, it was clear that Sherlock actually felt something for John, and he was concerned those affections weren’t reciprocated.

“It’s okay,” John whispered. His hands settled on either side of Sherlock’s face and guided their lips toward one another.

Sherlock resisted just before they met. “Are you… I mean… you said…”

“Shut up.” John darted in and caught Sherlock’s bottom lip between his own, nipping at it and immediately soothing over it with his tongue. When Sherlock’s jaw went slack, John took advantage of it, letting his tongue fill Sherlock’s mouth, tasting him, and hummed his approval.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man... I just... sorry... I struggled with this for a while. I wanted it to go one way, and the characters were having none of it. So, after I fought them and fought them, I finally gave in and things moved along much smoother. I should know by now to let the characters lead me... I think maybe I actually learned my lesson this time, though. Enjoy (maybe)!

Sometimes the silence of a kiss can speak volumes of words previously left unspoken. A lot had transpired between Sherlock and John; things had been tense for a few months after Sherlock miraculously returned from beyond the grave. Still, they had managed to salvage their relationship, and things were getting back to normal. Well, normal… right up until their lips met in the sitting room of Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones.

John and Sherlock were still lip locked when John felt his jumper being worked up his body. He pulled back and allowed it to be tugged over his head from behind him. Likewise, Sherlock had already been stripped of his coat, and the violet fabric of his shirt hung open against his pale flesh. Next came the buttons of John’s shirt, and he and Sherlock soon stood bare chest to bare chest. When their kiss resumed, they were steadfastly stripped from the waist down as well.

A pair of arms wrapped John up from behind, and hands which clearly didn’t belong to Sherlock expertly explored his body. Sherlock’s hands were threaded into John’s hair, John’s hands resting on Sherlock’s ribcage and occasionally being nudged by a second pair. Then they were being led to the sofa, John and Sherlock alike. Once seated, Ianto sank to his knees in front of John, already disrobed down to only his necktie. Jack was already on the floor in front of Sherlock, also nude save for this coat.

Sherlock reached down and rolled the coat’s fabric between his thumb and forefinger. Instead of speaking, he merely widened the gap between his thighs.

“You like it?” Jack asked.

Sherlock bit his bottom lip and nodded roughly.

Jack grinned. “Do you have a thing for the military? Or just exquisite taste in outwear?”

“Perhaps a bit of both,” Sherlock admitted warily.

“And here I am without my dog tags,” John replied, surprised to hear the thought hadn’t stayed in his head.

Jack pursed his lips briefly then rocked to his feet and darted off down a hallway. When he returned, he held his fist out toward John.

John cautiously opened his hand under Jack’s. The dog tags clinked as they fell into his palm. He looked at them quizzically.

“Well, I know they aren’t yours, but I thought they might do in a pinch. Hope you don’t mind that they’re American.”

John looked to Sherlock, who was nodding emphatically. It was endearing to see him so worked up over a bit of metal on a chain. As soon as they were around John’s neck, Sherlock grunted quietly and tugged him into a very deep, passionate kiss.

Moments later, John gasped into Sherlock’s mouth as the wet warmth of a tongue was pressed flat to the underside of his cock. A pair of trained lips wrapped ‘round it and soon he was completely enveloped in Ianto’s mouth. The tea boy suddenly seemed to be much more than a tea boy and much less of a stranger.

The gentle suction, the well-placed swirl of a tongue caused John to lie further back into the sofa. Then Sherlock was whimpering, his head suddenly on John’s chest. A cursory glance showed Jack’s face buried between Sherlock’s thighs and below his cock.

When Sherlock moaned something that sounded like John’s name, his eyelids falling shut, John kissed him hard, and his attention remained focused on Sherlock henceforth. He needed to take in the man who had already lived for so long in his head and his heart. Two impossibly perfect lips, unimaginably sharp cheekbones, raven curls begging to be played with, a long elegant neck beckoning John’s lips and teeth, and his scent… the faint whiff of jasmine and rosewood still lingering from his morning shower now mixed with the musk of arousal… all of it served to drive John wild.

John traced the hollow of Sherlock’s throat, which rumbled as the detective keened loudly in response to Jack’s tongue fluttering cyclically from bollocks to perineum to anus and back again. Another pang of jealousy washed over him, but it was soon interrupted. John drew in a sharp breath as Ianto wriggled a slick finger deep inside him. As soon as John’s attention drifted from Sherlock even briefly, it became obvious he wasn’t the only one with an envious streak. Sherlock moaned louder, the sound wrought with more spite than pleasure, and suddenly the game was afoot.

“More… harder…” John commanded, and Ianto obeyed.

“Dear god, your tongue is exquisite.” Sherlock glanced briefly at John, most likely to make certain he was paying attention. “Don’t stop. Never stop.”

What they were doing wasn’t normal, but they were John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Normal was hardly ever an appropriate term for them. Their friendship wasn’t normal. Their current circumstances weren’t normal. And moving forward, there was little to no chance their relationship would ever be normal. But normal was overrated. Worse yet, it was boring.

John looked down at Sherlock, who was trying far too hard to look enraptured when the tongue in his arse should have naturally put him into such a state, and decided it was time to raise the stakes. “Fuck me,” he barked in Ianto’s direction. When he was met with three sets of bewildered stares, he repeated himself. “Fuck me. I want to feel your cock inside me. Please?” This time he was begging for it, and he watched as the words visibly began to sink in to his partner’s lust addled brain.

Once Ianto had finished processing the admittedly abrupt request, he wasted no time in grabbing a nearby condom. John honestly wasn’t sure where it had come from or when and how it and several others just like it had arrived, he only knew he was happy to see it. Well, he was happy to see it for a moment. Then he was hit with the full force of what he’d asked for, nay, outright demanded. This wasn’t something he did, wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to do.

John could feel Sherlock watching, hear the silent doubts. Sherlock clearly wasn’t sure John would go through with it, and neither was he. At least, he hadn’t been until the moment he realized his flat mate was skeptical of his resolve.

It’s not like he’d never experimented with prostate manipulation in the past. Hell, it was the first thing he did upon learning he could. This was a bit different, though. A little digital stimulation during the occasional wank did not full-on anal sex make. He glanced at his hand. For starters, a fully engorged penis was considerably larger than the maximum two fingers he’d ever inserted in the past. But if Ianto with half as good with his cock as he had been with his mouth, John had nothing to worry about.

A moment later, all questions were answered. As Ianto began to press himself inside, there was a substantial difference. John could happily report all inconsistencies were positive, though. Ianto was the consummate gentleman, taking things easy and allowing for proper adjustment as he entered John with slow, measured movements. It wasn’t until John was fully seated around Ianto’s hot, slick length that John realized he was holding Sherlock’s hand in a death grip. His next realization was far more disconcerting, as it involved his lungs’ refusal to take in any air for what felt like an eternity. He finally sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to relax on the exhale.

Ianto had one of John’s legs on his shoulder and was finally thrusting in earnest, which John found himself enjoying more than he anticipated, almost more than he was comfortable with. Each roll of his lover’s hips gently massaged his prostate, and it certainly felt better than two fingers ever had. There was a pressure, a fullness he’d never felt before, and it was glorious. He closed his eyes and just reveled in the unadulterated pleasure afforded him via the rock hard prick push deep inside his arse.

It was the sound of Sherlock’s voice that eventually ripped John from the tranquility he’d formed around himself. “I’d like you to penetrate me now.” The comment was directed at Jack.

Jack’s eyebrow raised at the request, and he pulled his mouth off Sherlock’s cock with a loud pop.  “You sure about that?”

“Yes, quite. You worked me open with your tongue rather nicely earlier, and I’d greatly appreciate you penetrating me now.”

Jack just stared, obviously perplexed by Sherlock’s unorthodox verbiage.

John chuckled, almost forgetting for a second what was happening below his waist. “He’s just like that. You get used to. God knows I have.”

“Yeah…” Jack shook his head, reaffirming his grip on reality. He snagged a foil packet from the floor, ripped it open, and began applying the latex sheath. And suddenly Jack and Ianto were human stand-ins, providing John and Sherlock all the physical pleasures they couldn’t yet bring themselves to provide to one another.

John licked his lips, watching almost predatorily, and he was suddenly far more concerned with what was going on between Sherlock’s legs than his own. Sherlock winced, his head still planted firmly on John’s chest, as Jack’s prick steadily disappeared between his arse cheeks. John whimpered in response to the visual, even if it was clear Sherlock was in some degree of mild physical distress.

“Shhhh…” John nuzzled Sherlock’s cheek and stroked his hair, paying no mind to anything happening to his own body. His voice was soft and soothing. “Tell me about it.”

Sherlock worried his bottom lip between his teeth and panted for a moment before he began speaking. His voice was low and thick. “He’s very hard, and slightly larger than I’m used to. I exaggerated my preparedness because I like a bit of pain. Still, there was more than I was expecting, which isn’t to say I’m not enjoying it.”

John smoothed his hand over Sherlock’s chest and toward his groin, where his cock was obscenely erect and leaking profusely. “Mm… I can see that.”

“His thrusts are rough but controlled. He’s rather skilled. It’s obvious he’s no amateur.”

Jack shrugged, unable to argue facts, and John watched his abdominal muscles ripple as he pounded hard into Sherlock.

John dropped his gaze back to Sherlock’s face, his fingers tracing circles in the short, dark hair encircling the base of Sherlock’s cock, now sticky and matted in a pool of pre-cum. “I wish I could reach you with my tongue so I could lick you clean, feel your prick pressing down my throat, stroking and sucking you until you cum in my mouth so I could taste you and swallow it down.” He gripped Sherlock’s erection and stroked slowly from hilt to tip, rolling his palm across the heavily engorged glans on the upstroke.

Sherlock’s pale eyes went half-lidded, his jaw slightly slack. His voice was more breath than sound. “Fuck, John. Do it again.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me again. Please.” Sherlock sounded… well… whatever came just after utter desperation. “I want to feel myself slipping in and out of your fist. Please.”

“Jesus, fuck…” John stroked him again. “You feel amazing, so hard and warm against my hand. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a little jealous, though. I’d love to feel my cock buried deep inside you, feel you hot and tight around me.”

Jack shot John a sideways glance, a silent offer, which John declined every bit as silently.

Sherlock reached up, blindly grasping at John’s hair, and guided him into a needy kiss. He bit and sucked at John’s lips, panting into his mouth. “More. Please?” Begging suited him nicely.

John’s strokes picked up speed, Sherlock bucking up into his fist whenever Jack’s rhythm allowed for it. “Do you like fucking my hand? You’re leaking all over and making a terrible mess. What do you say we make it worse? I want to see you cum all over yourself… maybe on him, too.”

Jack nodded feverishly in agreement.

“You see that? He wants it. And then I could lick it off of him, taste you on his skin. I want you to cum for me, Sherlock, and I want to hear you say my name when you do.”

When John leaned in for a kiss, Sherlock stopped him. “No, I…” His breathing was laboured, his chest heaving. “I want…” He was obviously struggling to think, let alone speak. His body was tensing, jerking, so close to the edge, yet he fought to hold on.

“What? Tell me what you need.”  John continued stroking, now almost as a test to Sherlock’s resolve. It wasn’t often he sounded so desperate.

“I want…” He took a deep breath and shuddered. “I _need_ to see you… your face… when I…”

“Cum.” John smirked, and Sherlock obeyed.

“God, John, god,” came the strangled cry, and Sherlock’s cock pulsed in John’s hand. His body convulsed, his gaze still fixed on John as promised.

Jack let escape a satisfied moan as Sherlock must have spasmed around him. White pearlescent fluid streaked Jack’s stomach and settled into his navel. It dripped like hot wax across John’s fingers and pooled at Sherlock’s groin.

John sucked one of his soiled fingers into his mouth and groaned. Sherlock somehow managed to even taste of brilliance. He tidied the rest of his hand in a similar fashion and nodded to Jack.

Jack eased out of Sherlock and moved to stand directly in front of John. Had it not been for the dreadful taste of latex, John might not have been able to resist the erection jutting directly toward his mouth. But, as things stood, he found the resolve to ignore it and instead grasp Jack’s hips. He licked a few wide stripes up Jack’s abdomen, the salty tang of fresh semen sparking his taste buds, and he dipped his tongue into Jack’s navel, licking and sucking it clean as well. Within a breath of John’s last drop, Sherlock was on him, tongue massaging tongue, lapping greedily at the inside of John’s mouth.

“So, how do you taste on my tongue?” John asked against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock drew back, still a bit breathless. “Marvelous.” He slid from the sofa and knelt next to John’s midriff. “But not half as delicious as you’ll taste on mine.”

John bit his lip and watched as Jack positioned himself behind Ianto. It was clear these men were no novices, and they seemed to have everything well under control on their own. Even when John was focused solely on Sherlock, Ianto had never missed a beat, never faltered. So, he didn’t concern himself much when Ianto stilled briefly and leaned in a bit more so Jack could enter him. Of course, that’s not to say John didn’t feel the inevitable but satisfying pressure of Ianto sinking even further into him, if that was even possible.

It was a strange new sensation. Each time Ianto would stroke outward, Jack would meet him from behind and thrust him back in. While Sherlock spent a few moment just watching, unquestionably trying to take in the situation, deduce the logistics, work out the how’s and why’s, John simply watched Sherlock. Those crystal eyes fluttered over the image before them, collecting, absorbing, sorting, and dissecting every stimulus provided. It wasn’t until John’s hand brushed languidly down Sherlock’s torso that his attention was refocused on John.

That brief refocusing was all it took, though. Sherlock kissed gently along John’s ribcage, his hand massaging along John’s pubis. His teeth lightly raked across the sensitive skin at John’s side, just above his hip. Then Sherlock’s right hand gripped the base of John’s cock and stroked. The fingers of his left hand slipped into John’s mouth, and John impulsively sucked. When he extracted them, they disappeared behind Jack, pulling a soft grunt from his throat.

John’s eyes focused on the stretch and release in Sherlock’s forearm as he fucked Jack with his fingers. Jack’s head rolled lazily on his neck, his eyes shut tight and his tongue barely visible through the tenuous part in his lips. He looked absolutely delirious with pleasure as he lovingly wrapped Ianto up in his arms and held him close. John couldn’t help but admire how intimate and devoted they seemed to be to one another, even amidst a polyamorous sexual tryst. And then it was John’s attention that required reining in.

Sherlock’s fingers splayed around John’s prick. “Tell me what you want from me, Captain Watson.”

John drew his head back sharply in response to the unexpected nomenclature, but he settled into it quickly when he saw Sherlock’s eyes flick toward the dog tags hanging around his neck. “I want—” John traced the deep bow of Sherlock’s upper lip with the pad of his thumb. “—to feel those remarkable lips on my cock. I want to see that perfect heart shape wrapped around me and feel your tongue pressed against me. And I want to know you’re simultaneous working Jack, who must be so tight and hot around your fingers. I want to know that you’re teasing at his prostate while you suck me off. Oh, god, Sherlock… I want to feel the tip of my cock at the back of your throat until you’re practically gagging on it.”

Sherlock’s breathing grew ragged just listening to John’s list of demands, and before John could get another word out, his cock disappeared between Sherlock’s lips.

The moist heat of Sherlock’s mouth was maddening, as he hadn’t yet allowed for any point of connection beyond lips and shaft. He dragged his tongue along the ridge of John’s raphe as he drew his mouth upward, and his tongue pointed as it traced the slit in at the tip of John’s glans. John thrashed at the sensation. His cock was positively aching after being neglected for so long, but his reaction caused a momentary ripple that threatened the stability of their whole operation. Clearly, he would have to exercise better control if he wished to maintain the dynamic of their intoxicating little quartet.

“Come closer,” John demanded, and Sherlock scooted forward until his groin was pressed against the sofa. His fingers trailed down Sherlock’s cleft and stopped just above his entrance. “I want to feel my fingers inside you, feel how wet you are, how thoroughly Jack fucked you open.”

Sherlock’s continued bobbing on John’s prick was all the consent he needed, and he was able to easily slip in two saliva slicked fingers. Sherlock was snug, but a third could be accomplished without much resistance, and John soon proved it. “Fuck, Sherlock… You’re practically gaping, aren’t you?”

Sherlock replied by humming agreeably against John’s cock.

“Are you still over-stimulated?” John brushed Sherlock’s prostate and felt a rush of cool air rush over his erection when Sherlock gasped. “Is that a yes or a no?”

He received the slightest shake of Sherlock’s head, detected mostly by the quiver of his curls, in response. That, paired with a pathetic whimper when he applied slightly more pressure, was enough of an answer. Within a few moments, Sherlock was rocking himself on his knees, fucking himself on John’s hand. His own hand was still plunging feverishly in and out of Jack, and his cheeks were severely hollowing as he began to drag John toward orgasm.

There was no fighting it. Sherlock was far too skilled and determined for John to resist. Nothing as pedestrian as three fingers up his arse would be enough to throw someone like Sherlock Holmes off his game. As John’s faculties and fine motor skills began to fade, he withdrew his fingers and chuckled when Sherlock hissed at the loss of sensation.

“Is that all you’ve got, Soldier?” John snapped at Sherlock, who paused, straightened his spine a bit, and went back to the prick in his mouth with new fervor. A few moments of harsh suction later, John was cumming. His vision blurred to white, his back arched, his fist clenched around Sherlock’s curls, John was bellowing incoherent profanities as he shot his release as far down Sherlock’s throat as was physically possible.

As John slumped, post-orgasm, his ears pricked when he heard an unfamiliar whooshing, a sort of grinding whir. “What the bloody hell is that?”

Sherlock wiped his mouth, lips pink and swollen, and turned his head toward the sound. Jack’s head whipped around simultaneously. “Doctor?” they asked in unison, both then quickly looking at the other.

When the TARDIS appeared a few feet away in the sitting room, Sherlock winced against his palm. “Dear, god… I do hope you have a riding crop handy.” His voice was knowing, perhaps with a hint of frustration.

“Of course,” Jack replied. “But… wait… what?”

Before Sherlock could respond, the TARDIS doors opened and out stepped a pair of dingy Chuck Taylor high-tops. They led upward into a brown pin-striped suit and ended with a head of perfectly, strategically mussed hair. The strange man eyed the scene before him, confounded. Yet he spoke only one word. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't keep my Johnlock feels out of stuff, it seems. No matter how hard I tried to make this about the 4 of them, it always came back to Sherlock and John. I couldn't make it interesting or sexy until I let them interact. Sorry if that's not what you came here looking for... it wasn't intentional. I stand by it, though. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supposedly a fivesome, but more like a twosome with a threesome playing in the background of the same room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno. Sorry... My Johnlock wouldn't shut the fuck up!

“What?” The thin man repeated himself.

“DOCTOR!” Jack shouted excitedly but stilled, glancing down at Ianto, his expression suggesting he’d just realized how very awkward the situation had suddenly become.

Sherlock, blissfully unaware of or utterly unconcerned with his own stark nudity, rose to his feet and made his way to the confused man in the suit. “Good lord… I remember you from photos. Eleven told me I might meet one of his previous regenerations one day… he must have known… but… look at you. You’re so young.”

The Doctor looked Sherlock up and down. “And you are?”

“Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock extended his hand. “One day… you and I…” His eyes gleamed. “Well… just… one day… you’ll see.”

“Wait… Eleven?”

“Well, yes. That’s what I call him.”

The Doctor bobbed his head absently, clearly very deep in thought. “He must be the one directly after me,” he finally replied.

Sherlock looked surprised. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I’m the tenth… the tenth face, the tenth body. Which means my next is number—”

“Eleven.” Sherlock chuckled deviously. “Lovely theory, Doctor, but entirely incorrect. While you are the most recent incarnation before the one I know, the reason I call him Eleven—” He palmed the front of the Doctor’s trousers. “—has _nothing_ to do with any of that. Purely coincidental, I’m afraid.”

“What? Ohhhh… wait… no… what?”

Sherlock gave him a predatory grin and flicked his eyes toward the man’s groin. “So, if you’re not here for me, then why? And how do you know Jack?”

“Why would he be here for you?” Jack pulled roughly out of Ianto and turned his attention to the Doctor. “Why would you be here for him?”

The Doctor’s brows knitted together, scrubbing his palms in the hair near his temples. “I don’t know. His past, my future. Why am I here _now,_ though?”

“You told me once that the TARDIS doesn’t always take you where you want to be, but she takes you where you _need_ to be.” Sherlock eyed him from the position he’d reclaimed across the room. “Perhaps she thinks you need a little stress relief, Doctor.”

“Yeah, maybe…” The Doctor paced nervously.

Jack approached the Doctor, stilling him and coaxing him out of his coat. “You certainly look like you could use some stress relief.”

“What exactly is happening here?” Ianto whispered to John, whom he had at some point vacated and settled beside.

John just stared. “I have no bloody idea. Do you know him?”

“Not as well as your friend seems to.” Ianto scoffed.

John chanced a glance at Sherlock, who was perched and the sofa and watched intently as Jack slowly peeled away the Doctor’s layers. His fingers were steepled under his chin, his tongue gliding along the part in his lips. There was a fascination in his eyes that John wasn’t entirely comfortable with, clearly something he hadn’t been told.

John looked back at Ianto. “Join them.” He nodded roughly toward Jack and the Doctor. “He and I, we’ll be fine.”

Ianto shrugged and crossed to where his lover was undressing the Doctor. Jack gave him an approving smile, and it seemed that was all that was necessary. A pale strip of flesh peeked through the blue shirt hanging open to either side of the Doctor’s abdomen. Ianto’s hands had settled on this nipples, rolling them between thumbs and forefingers.

The Doctor’s trousers were unbuttoned and unzipped, exposing white briefs with blue piping and a TARDIS printed over the growing bulge in his Y-fronts. Jack paused momentarily at the image and looked questioning at the blushing Time Lord.

“Well…” The Doctor cleared his throat. “Been told it seems bigger on the inside.”

“You don’t say.” Jack’s eyes flickered to life, and he quickly went back to work.

As the requisite caressing, licking, and sucking ensued, John nudged Sherlock with his elbow. “Sit with me.”

Sherlock eyed him cautiously but did as he was asked. Though he sat just a bit too far away and looked a little too uncertain. There was clearly something wrong.

John exhaled heavily and dropped his head back against the sofa as he began stroking mostly flaccid cock. He hoped the Sherlock may settle once his own attention was diverted elsewhere. “Mmm…” He chewed his bottom lip while watching the three men pleasuring each other in front of him, the first hints of his next erection taking shape in his hand.

It was a relief to see Sherlock following suit, even if his eyes remained steadfastly on John.

After several long moments of silence, save for the sounds of carnal pleasure emanating from the other side of the room, John worked up the nerve to move closer to Sherlock and place a hand on his thigh. The quadriceps beneath John’s palm went rigid, and Sherlock’s hand stilled. John froze. “Okay. Out with it. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” Sherlock hesitated.

“It’s just us,” John finished his sentence. “A few minutes ago—”

“It wasn’t just us.”

“Yes, precisely. And we were engaged in rather substantial physical contact, if you ask me. So, what’s going on?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t think I can… not with just you.”

John’s hand immediately retracted from Sherlock’s thigh. “Are you… I mean, am I not…”

“John, no. I didn’t mean—” Sherlock ran his hands roughly through his curls. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered to himself.

“Hey…” John lowered Sherlock’s hands and took them into his own. “It’s fine. Just tell me.”

Sherlock fidgeted nervously within John’s grip. “If you’re concerned I’m not attracted to you, you’re wrong. In fact, I’ve thought about this for a very long time. I just… you keep saying… and now that it’s just us… I can’t do something—” he stammered in the most un-Sherlock way possible, peering out at John through long eyelashes. “I can’t _allow_ you to do something you’ll regret in the morning… not with me.”

John couldn’t withhold the grin forming on his lips. He stood and settled with his knees on either side of Sherlock’s thighs, the fingers of their hands now laced together. “There is nothing about any of this I’m going to regret, not in the morning, not ever.”

“But you said you’re not—” Sherlock’s jaw snapped shut when John’s hand wrapped around his lengthening prick.

“What I’m not accustomed to is being kept waiting. Are you going to fuck me? Or do I need to get one of those nice gentlemen over there to do it instead?”

Sherlock didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“Are you really going to allow him to be with me in a way you haven’t? Do you really want his cock to be the last one I remember?”

Though still silent, Sherlock shook his head to the contrary.

 “Good. Now hold on to me.” Once Sherlock seemed to have a good grip, John bent back to retrieve a condom and the bottle of lube from the floor. Sherlock watched quietly with consternation as John stroked him a few more times, opened the foil packet, rolled the latex sheath onto him, and lubed it up. “Are you ready for me to sit on that nice, hard prick of yours so I can finally feel you inside of me?”

“You’re sure?” Sherlock managed to squeak out.

John lifted himself, hovering just over Sherlock’s cock. “Oh, I’m sure,” he replied, as he sank down onto it.

Sherlock groaned quietly at the sensation. “John, I—” His brain seemed to short out when John began to rock in his lap.

John’s fingers were fisted into Sherlock’s curls as he snapped his hips against Sherlock’s. “Nnnng… fuck… Sherlock… fuck… yes…” John’s cries were desperate and sounded almost pained as he writhed and rolled and ground Sherlock’s prick hard against his own prostate.

“Are… are you okay?” Sherlock’s voice was wrought with as much concern as possible under the circumstances.

“Oh, god, yes.” John nodded, his forehead pressed to Sherlock’s. “Just… promise… you’ll never… stop… fucking… me,” he panted in ragged breaths.

Sherlock clenched onto John’s thighs, lifting him and slamming him back down. “Never, John. Never.”

From across the room, the Doctor’s voice rang out in a string of incoherent moaning, mumbling, and likely cursing.

Sherlock stopped. “Wait. Watch,” he insisted to John.

John craned his neck to see the Doctor on his hands and knees, Ianto pressed deep inside him and Jack lying under him in proper sixty-nine style. Just as he turned, he saw a golden aura rising from the Time Lord. Though, only he and Sherlock seemed to notice, as Ianto’s eyes were screwed tightly shut and Jack was far too busy sucking and stroking to pay any mind. The haze of dust intensified, and soon the Doctor came across Jack’s lips, tongue, and fist.

“Don’t swallow,” Sherlock shouted with a sense of urgency. “C’mere.”

Jack seemed hesitant, but he followed the instructions given to him.

When Jack was close enough, Sherlock took hold of his wrist and licked his hand clean. Also without swallowing, he kissed John deeply, transferring a decent bit of the Doctor’s release. “Now, go kiss your partner, swallow what’s left, and thank me later,” he whispered before Jack sauntered away to do as he was told.

“What was that about?” John asked.

“You’ll see when you climax… well… assuming the experience is satisfactory enough—”

John leaned in and kissed Sherlock, hard and deep. His tongue thoroughly searched the cavity of Sherlock’s mouth, his teeth tugging at the detective’s bottom lip. “You don’t have to worry about whether or not I’ll cum,” he promised. “All you need to do—” He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and placed it on his own aching prick. “—is touch me.”

Sherlock began to stroke him as John began to move once again. The pressure in his arse mixed with the friction on his cock was enough to put him over the edge almost immediately. A slow, familiar tingle started at the base of his spine and snaked outward through his body, but it burned hotter than ever before. The electric energy coursing through him was stronger, his nerve endings set aflame. He held on for what seemed like an eternity, riding out incredible, intense waves of euphoria. He came harder and longer than he ever had before, his vision blurring, bursting into bright white, and then falling into complete darkness.

As John slumped against Sherlock, he felt himself being maneuvered so that he was lying on the sofa, Sherlock never pulling out. He tucked John’s legs up over his shoulders, nearing bending him in half, and thoroughly fucked him senseless. A few impassioned moments later, Sherlock came screaming something that sounded like John’s name shrouded in incoherency.

When they settled on the sofa, side by side, John began to process what had taken place. “Wha—”

“The gold mist… it’s regeneration energy. You have it to thank for your orgasm.”

“I have _you_ to thank for my orgasm.” John chuckled and placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s lips.

“You just remember that next… I mean… if…”

“Oh, dear God, Sherlock… Of course there’s going to be a next time.”

“Do you… I mean… would you like to… penetrate _me_ next time?”

John grinned. “Would you like that?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Then, I’d love to.”

“I’d like it to just be the two of us, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Yeah, I think I can manage that. I’m not much of a fivesome kind of guy,” John admitted. “A bit too jealous.”

“Any reason we shouldn’t still enjoy the rest of the show?” Sherlock nodded toward the still active threesome several feet in front of them.

“Nope!” John pulled Sherlock’s arm across his own shoulders and tucked his head against Sherlock’s shoulder.

Jack was on his knees in front of the Doctor, his hands on his ankles with his back beautifully arched. His lips were parted, his jaw slack as he fucked the Time Lord’s eager mouth.

Ianto gripped the Doctor’s narrow hips and roughly thrust into him repeatedly. He and Jack watched each other intently. Like a truly simpatico pair, they came almost simultaneously at opposite ends of the same man. Their bodies trembled through their orgasms, and the triad collapsed to the floor when they were through.

“Doctor,” Sherlock called calmly. “You might want to avoid others ingesting your semen in the future.”

“What?” he asked in reply, just as confused as he’d been the moment he stepped from his TARDIS.

“Oh, nothing, I’m sure… It just has some interesting properties,” Sherlock explained.

“Oi! How do you mean?” the Doctor pressed.

“Just a temporary energy boost and perhaps some minor healing qualities. Also, it significantly improves one’s quality of orgasm.” Sherlock’s voice was even, cool. “It’s to do with the regeneration energy you expel at climax.”

“What? How—”

“You told me as Eleven, I suspect based on this very conversation. Fascinating.”

“Want a lift back home?” the Doctor asked, not even beginning to question what he was being told.

Sherlock shook his head. “My time in there with you is over. Just do me a favour and leave yourself a note, a reminder to always come back for me before this date.”

The Doctor cocked his head, confused.

“If you come back after this, I’d only turn you down.” Sherlock laced his fingers with John’s. “And I’d be right in doing so. I have something better.”

Everyone thanked Jack and Ianto for their hospitality and bid them adieu. Just as John and Sherlock’s cab approached, they heard the TARDIS beginning to fade and then suddenly getting louder again. They watched from the door, hoping their ride would wait just a few moments longer. Though they couldn’t hear the conversation that transpired, they watched as Jack and Ianto stepped inside the flying blue box. A quick wave later, and everyone was gone.

John and Sherlock slid into their cab, hands still clasped and hearts alight. It was a night for new adventures, and none was quite as exciting as the one they were about to embark upon. The story of how they began would never be normal. It could best be described as a really sexy mess…  Their story had never been normal, though. Their lives were never destined to be normal. Normal was boring. What they had was just… better.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm again working without a beta for the time being... so apologies if there are mistakes. I almost always catch them the next day.


End file.
